


Empty Caskets

by TwistedViolets



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grooming, Lots of strange metaphors, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Reginald centric, Training, the mausoleum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25993009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedViolets/pseuds/TwistedViolets
Summary: Reginald had a certain taste in love. Mainly the lack of it but sometimes a certain blend of it made his 'heart' as humans would refer to it, pump in just the right way. And like usual, he's found a fancy for something normal people have a distaste for.Broken Things.So he can say without a shadow of a doubt that he loves (tolerates) his (the) children, some more than others, in ways he wasn’t supposed to.
Relationships: Grace Hargreeves/Reginald Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/Reginald Hargreeves, Luther Hargreeves/Reginald Hargreeves
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> We all know the drill. Gross sad things again.
> 
> I’ve been having some shitty days and it’s ruined my writing plans. I’ve been wanting to finish some of my old stories but haven’t gotten there due to personal problems :(
> 
> I don’t have a set plot for this. Just some vague ideas and concepts but regardless it’ll probably be more writing practice than anything. I’ll probably keep typo checking lax due to this being more for stress relief/ venting than normal.
> 
> Tags will update with each chapter (Length will increase as well, First chapter is just a prologue,) so please watch them! Also Season Two Spoilers 0.0

He found out early on in his earth adventures that there were things that he liked and then a very thin line of acceptable things. Beyond all that were things he didn't concern himself with, like the women of the night who walked the streets to the horrors of caffeine.

But earth made up for these downfalls with it's beautiful, unique nature, to the ever-changing waters that run throughout every river. Evolution, along with time had made things worth exploring, like the ocean's depth, or the tribes in the Amazon. 

He enjoyed these things immensely, and humans often found his studies fascinating. Regardless, he had never found anything that attracted him.

He had Grace for a short period but their relationship was one not based on the pleasures of intercourse. It was built on mutual affection and trust. She had fallen for his intelligence and him her ladylike manners and appearance. She never questioned him and he preferred it that way.

Still, he never found something that driven his internal need for pleasure. Never had anything even scratched the surface until now.

Until he watched the broken look manifest in the eyes of a mad man. His own 'son' from the future as the group claims. It was no matter to him. The look in Diego's eyes, the hurt, and then the stutter.

It was all the means of a broken thing that had never been allowed to mend. It spoke of something homemade, something that had been building up for years and years of grooming. Something that manifests itself with a mere glare and a few spiteful words.

He didn't like broken things per-say but he did have an infinity for homemade broken things and well, you can't get much better than this. Children, things you can raise and mold into whatever you choose, despite their infuriating nature that made them so incredibly unappealing.

Regardless, he can't ignore the subtle pump in his chest, the first trickle of pleasure in the lake of want that needs to be filled before he'll ever be satisfied. So he makes a little note in his journal, describing these six broken things before him, in hopes he'll create these things he had found himself fascinated by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might feature some chapters from other points of views but I’m not sure yet.
> 
> Edit: I feel like I should probably mention this story takes place during the umbrella academy age and I’ll just be ignoring the whole sparrow academy thing. Although I’d love to write a story about that sometime.


	2. Days Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers; Reginald does not love his children.
> 
> Since the first chapter was so short here’s this one early <3
> 
> I like to set up a little world building and stuff before I throw you into the angst and all that.
> 
> Next chapter will probably not be as nice.
> 
> Not typo checked at all yet, my apologies.

He bought Seven of them. 'Children,' he knows, but he does his best to see them as things. Things he owns, things he can break down and rebuild, things that adapt. Unsurprisingly he easily built a disconnect in his mind, allowing himself to think of the bundles of flesh as objects rather than children.

It was easier because they had a greater purpose. He could lie to himself, tell himself he only got them because fate told him to. Because they're necessary to save the world, but he knew in reality that these machines of flesh and bone were meant for more than that.

He named them all. One through Seven, determining the strongest to the weakest according to the rate of crying, bone density, and his knowledge of their powers he had learned decades ago. Although Number Six was and will be an uncertainty.

/-/

He didn't take care of them but instead mapped out plans for their existence, despite Pogo's regular disapproval of this 'parenting method.' He ignores these statements and off looks, he never signed up for parenthood.

He loathes children.

But he does like power, control, and a hint of lost innocence. Like the powdered snowfall being covered with fumes of blackened exhaust. There's something so enjoyable about the simple extension of that feeling from a machine built to feel it every second of the day.

And as it were to be, he had decided he wanted that. He had his mind made up for decades, although he knew his thoughts go against normal human views but he ignored that. As he did often with things he cared less for; He had grown tired of living up to human standards.

He lived decades like a circus animal, performing for even the little bit of a smile. He climbed his way up the social ladder and hit the top where there's no place to go except down...unless he chose to tear through the ceiling but overtaking the government isn't his style. He quite prefers the way the earth operates.

So he made the plans each night.

Morning roll call at 8 am sharp, bedtime at 8 pm sharp. Free time on Saturdays, 30 minutes at most. And of course group mealtimes along with group training sessions.

Things were going as great as he has predicted.

/-/

He hit his first roadblock three years into the children's development. Mainly the fact that he had caught himself multiple times considering them children. 

He found the disconnect fading.

It had to be the human things they did. Like tilt their heads at things they found confusing, stumbling when they walk, talking amongst themselves in small high pitch tones. Things he found annoying although Pogo didn’t. Pogo often took the children for walks around the courtyard, teaching them various plants and birds.

/-/

He hasn't started their training yet although they are nearing five years old. He figured the best course of action, to ensure the most broken outcome, is to make them content, almost happy, then rip the rug of safety they held onto right out from underneath them.

/-/

At six years old Number Seven decides she hates oatmeal. He was not prepared for this outcome, seeing as the girl he met decades ago was shy and blended into the background. Yet, Number Seven as he knew now had no problem tossing around her caregivers as if they meant nothing.

As if she had mastered the disconnect between humans and objects. Or perhaps it was something deeper. As one of his theories goes, when her emotions take over she becomes the embodiment of power, seeing no foe nor friend but simply things that interrupt her state of contentment and as such need to be destroyed.

He needed a solution and from that he created Grace. She was made from his fondest memories of a woman he fondly remembered. A perfect housewife, a perfect well mannered young woman who preferred to walk side by side, rather than attempting to take a greater position in a relationship than necessary. Although that is a generational disconnect, he supposed.

She helped with Number Seven's outbursts for a short time.

/-/

The children quickly became infatuated with Grace. Deeming her their mother, although he never told them to associate her as such. But, regardless he didn't fight the matter either.

/-/

Number Two bonded with Grace the most. As he had personal sessions with her on his awful stuttering. Often time Number Four or One would tease him about being a mommy suck up.

Number Three had Grace braid her hair.

/-/

Training started abruptly.

The children knew they were expected to perform great things and knew they had a bigger purpose in life but they were never told what until that day he rang the bell for the first time, awaking the soldiers for their first day of the rest of their lives. He made separate training regimens for them all at first, allowing them a few weeks to figure out on their own their powers.

Everything was fine.

Number Three liked to rumor the boys to do her set of the dishes. He of course stopped her, but he knew that look in her eyes was one of someone who knew they were powerful. Not just powerful, but ominous. She held the world in her palm and she knew it.

Number One crushed metals and lifted up boulders. He had no problems using his powers and in fact liked to show off, although he wishes this phase was short-lived, it wasn’t.

Number Two learned to curve his knives relatively fast, although his temper only seemed to multiply. With each failure, he'd throw his knife to the ground in rage and with each grind of his teeth, he was more determined to get it right.

Number Four started with simple sessions of talking. Explaining what he saw, what he heard, what he felt, and from then they moved on to summoning which absolutely turned off Number Four from the prospect of his powers altogether. In retrospect, he shouldn't have moved so quickly.

Number Six was excited, too excited to use his powers really. Tearing through rabbits and frogs and rats like they were nothing. Covering himself head to toe in blood until suddenly the smile was wiped off his face and he stared at his hands in horror of what he had done.

Number Five was cocky, weeks earlier had already started his spacial jumps that now he did them with very little effort. His snide comments were not appreciated.

Number Seven...couldn’t control her powers. A likely outcome although he had hoped for better. Unfortunately, he was forced to take away her powers, deeming her unsafe even to her self. With the help of Number Three and a bottle of pills, Number Seven believed she was ordinary and soon enough the other children believed so as well.

Out from underneath the children their sense of reality was changed. From children who couldn't wipe their noses to children who were expected to preform chores each day, maintain a level of manners like any respectable adult, and become machines able to fight any threat.

These were the first days of the umbrella academy before the name had ever been decided upon.

/-/

Number Four found a box of cigarettes hidden underneath a table with layers of dust. From a time when nannies were always in and out of the house.

He smoked a single one in the attic that night but coughed up such a mess that he decided he didn't care for them. He proceeded to hide them on them underneath a box and forget they exist. 

This was just the start of Four’s addiction with substances not fit for the human body.

/-/

He takes Number Four to the mausoleum, deeming it a good place to start on Four's journey to complete acceptance of the dead. He walked the child inside, hand on his shoulder, before telling him to close his eyes.

"This is a place only you are allowed," he told Four as he walked back up the stairs, letting Four there, and as he shut the door, and the light of the moon began to leave, he thought he could see Four Flinch as he realizes he has been betrayed. He has been left alone, left without a sense of comfort to get him through his fear.

He would not baby Four.

He prefers him broken.

"Dad!" Four cries out again and again but he ignores it until it becomes a hoarse gargle.

When he opens the door hours later, he sees a broken mess on the floor. Tears streaming down Four's face, eyes wide, a look of fear that could only be homemade.

Number Four was the first one of his things to be broken in such a way...as to be appealing to him.

**Author's Note:**

> This might feature some chapters from other points of views but I’m not sure yet.
> 
> Edit: I feel like I should probably mention this story takes place during the umbrella academy age and I’ll just be ignoring the whole sparrow academy thing. Although I’d love to write a story about that sometime.


End file.
